


House of Memories

by TinyFedoraMan



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: F/M, Link as Brendon Urie, M/M, Panic! At the Disco except it's Link and some random doods, Rhett McLaughlin the Country Singer, definitely alcohol, fall out boy - Freeform, maybe some drugs idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyFedoraMan/pseuds/TinyFedoraMan
Summary: Rhett and Link went their separate ways after high school. Ironically, they both went down the same musical path. Link became the lead singer of Panic! At the Disco (in a universe where Brendon doesn't exist and it's actually Link), and Rhett becomes a famous country singer. They crossed paths again years later, and it only made things worse between them. What happens when they meet yet again after Link's show?(Yo I suck at summaries. Give it a chance. Drunk Link is funny.)





	1. Build God, Then We'll Talk

Link stood at the edge of the stage. His shirt was off, flung into the crowd and lost for good. It was probably in the arms of a fangirl, hugged against her chest and tears in her eyes. All the lights in the stadium suddenly shut off, causing the screams of the crowd to suddenly halt. A few seconds later, Link was up on a podium, situated in front of a jet black piano, overlooking the crowd. Dull grey lights came on and shone across the stadium. A lazy fog began to roll across the room. He began to play a simple melody on the piano before starting to sing.  
“There’s no sunshine, this impossible year. Only black days and sky grey and clouds full of fear. And storms full of sorrow that won’t disappear. Just typhoons and monsoons- This impossible year.” 

The brunet finished his acoustic version of Impossible Year, and began heading back down for his last song. He would’ve hated to end the show on such a sad song. Yet again, the lights changed colors, settling on bright oranges and reds. However, the jumbotron behind him changed from the words “Death of a Bachelor Tour” to the Fall Out Boy logo. Suddenly Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz, Andy Hurley, and Joe Trohman ran onto stage and tackled Link down to the ground. “What the fuck!” Link yelled into his microphone, erupting with laughter. Once the band got Link to the ground, they jumped back up, seized some microphones and instruments, and began to perform Link’s closing number, “Victorious.” The crowd was losing their absolute minds over the prank, while Link just laid there laughing his ass off. Towards the end of the song, once he had himself under control, he jumped right back up and finished off the song with them. Link grabbed Patrick and pulled him into a headlock once the song ended. “Thank you everybody for coming out tonight! It’s been such a blast to be with all you lovely motherfuckers tonight! I love you all! Good night, Los Angeles!” Link blew them a kiss with his now free hands (Patrick had wrestled his way out of the headlock) and took a bow. A blood red curtain with the words “Panic! At the Disco” soon came down and a confetti canon, the fifth one that night, covered the crowd. All of the lights came back on in the stadium, leaving the fans to look at what a mess the concert had caused, but also what a great time it left them with. The fans cheered for an encore, but sadly, Link’s manager wouldn’t allow him to get back out there. The singer was ushered backstage and out through a back door. He wasn’t even given time to relax in his dressing room, or talk to his band.   
“Come on, man. We gotta be in Vegas by eight in the morning, and you need to rest.” Chase told him, checking his clipboard in his hand and listening to something through his earpiece.   
“Rest? I don’t need rest.” He jumped in a circle as he walked, trying to demonstrate that he was still full of energy. “Plus why eight in the morning? I thought we didn’t need to be practicing until three.”  
“Well…” Chase’s face was suddenly full of remorse. “Uh… So there was a change in the schedule after we talked about the tour schedule a few months ago…”  
Link stopped in his tracks and stared blankly down at Chase, his manager. “And you didn’t tell me? What the fuck, man!”   
“I’m sorry! We kinda got bribed into changing the time of tomorrow’s concert.”  
“Bribed? Bribed by who?”   
“Some redneck country singer. He said something about how he always performs at seven o’clock at night. Something about this superstitious tradition.”  
“Then why didn’t this tasteless, tone-def, incest-loving hick find a different venue?” Chase could definitely tell that Link was growing in anger.  
“Well, he’s just as famous as you are… He deserves to be there too.” If Chase could shrink down into nothing in that moment- he would. He definitely fucked up.  
“Whatever. Now I have to get up at god o’clock in the morning. Fuck this.” Link jumped into the doorway of the tour bus, skipping the three steps entirely, and slammed the door shut.  
“The fuck is up your ass?” Pete asked when he saw the brunet in distress. “Some country fuck singer stole my show. Now we have to perform at noon. Who the fuck wants to go to a concert at noon?” He kicked his shoes off, sending them flying towards Patrick. “Damn, son. Watch where you’re throwing shit.” He quickly dodged the shoe.

“Sorry.” Link mumbled as he kicked off his other shoe, this time not as violent, and wiggled out of his pants. “I’m gonna go shower.” His words were suddenly soft, which made the members of Fall Out Boy, and his own band members look at each other in worry. “Damn.” Pete sighed, climbing into his bed. “Why is he so pissed over getting the time changed? It’s happened before.”  
“It’s because it’s a country singer.” Mike, one of his newer guitarist, said quietly.   
“But why?” Pete raised a brow and laid on his side with his head propped up on his hand so he could still face everybody. 

“Well kids.” Patrick said, laying the same way as Pete, starting also in a hushed tone. “There are two reasons why. The first being, he was raised in the south. God and Merle Haggard. The great duo. So now he just gets sick to his stomach when he hears country music. The second reason why… Well… His ex best friend dropped off the side of the Earth after high school. They both went their separate ways and then Link became Panic! At the Disco and yadda yadda yadda. You guys know that story. But, turns out his ex best friend also pursued a path in music… Country music.” The band members in the room all gasped, playing up how dramatic Patrick was already making his story time. “Fast forward a couple of years and they both were hella famous. World tours, lotta fans, lotta pussy. Ya know.” He chuckled. “But then came one night at the Billboard Music Awards in… 2014 maybe? Well, at the after party, Link ran into his ex best friend there. They were both pretty drunk. Pretty happy after both receiving awards in their categories. So they get to talkin… Then some kissin, cause ya know… Our boy Link is so into pussy yet so into penis... Then apparently, as the story goes, they fucked. The next morning, Link wakes up, and the guy is nowhere to be seen. All that was left behind was a note saying, “Link, we shouldn’t have done this. I’m straight. Sleeping with another man is a sin. Never talk to me again.””  
Andy rolled his eyes. “Come on. That really couldn’t have been what the note said.”  
“It wasn't. But I think it was something like that. Anyways, now Link despises that guy. I honestly think he’d murder him if he ever got the chance. Hence why Link gets so upset over country music.”  
“Damn. Link must’ve been in love with that guy.” Mike said, completely oblivious of who just walked back in.  
“I was.” Link said sternly. “Now can you guys just shut the fuck up and get some sleep? I really don’t want to hear about /him/ anymore.” He turned off the lights and climbed up into his bunk.

“Sorry, man.” Patrick sighed. “Won’t happen again.”

The bus ride was pretty quiet for the rest of the night. Everyone felt awful for digging up the sore memory from Link’s past. They’d never really seen him so upset before. Link did have a past of anger issues. His mom would tell him to go punch a pillow, which surprisingly worked. But, being a twenty-six year old man kind of takes away your right to turn into a bratty child again and beat up a pillow. So Link settled with sleeping it off. 

That night, however, didn’t prove to be a good night’s rest. He was turning and fidgeting in his sleep all night. The only dream he had was an old memory that kept replaying itself and replaying itself.

It was the night of the awards show, and Link was at the after party at Ryan Seacrest’s house. He was on his fourth shot of tequila, and probably his sixth beer. After all, what fun is a party with a bunch of snooty celebrities without being blackout drunk? He was stumbling his way around the house, when he ran right into a tall blond man, with a shaggy beard and gelled up hair. He looked like a well-kept man, yet messy at the same time, most likely because it was his signature look.   
“Aye sorry man!” Link chuckled, and patted the surprisingly firm chest of the man he just spilt some of his beer on.   
“It’s um… fine…” The guy chuckled awkwardly, obviously not into the fact that a strange twink drunk man was touching his chest.  
“Hey. What an accent ya got there, cowboy!” Link laughed and moved so he was in the position to smack his hand on the man’s ass, which he did.  
“Um…” The bearded man looked down at him in confusion before trying to walk way.  
“Hey!” Link pouted and grabbed onto the man for dear-life. “Come back here. I’m not done talking…” Link suddenly grew a very southern accent. “The Looord pushed us into each other! It was meant to beee! Now get your cute ass-chaps back over here, cowboy!” Link would’ve been drawing a scene if he wasn’t in the same room as Lady Gaga in a full on meat dress.   
“I’m sorry?” The blond quirked his head in confusion. He was slightly offended over the fact that this drunk gay man had just used the Holy Spirit as a joke. “Do you need me to drive you home?”  
“Nah nah. I came with a couple ah-...” Link looked around but couldn’t spot Pete or Patrick. “Actually yeah. I think they left. I need a ride, cowboy. Where’s your horse?” He quickly looked around the room as if he’d spot a big stallion in the middle of the crowd.   
“Right this way.” He sighed, taking the drunk man by his hand and leading him out of the large front doors.  
“So what kinda horse do you ride? My fave are those ones from that movie. You know what I’m talking about. They got them big ol’ hooves and they say shit like ‘naaaaaaaay bitch! Slaaaaaaay bitch!’”  
The tall man shook his head and lead Link to his 2014 GMC Sierra 1500 Pickup Truck. “Do you even know your address right now?” He asked him while he helped him up into the tall truck.   
“Of course. It’s 204 Let Me Ride Your Cock, Mr Cowboy.” He giggled and tried wrapping his arms around the man’s neck, but the man quickly dodged it and buckled Link in. He closed the door and got in on his side. “Fine. Give me your phone. It’s gotta be on there somewhere.” 

“Ooo the cowboy wants to put his number in my phone. Yas queen.” He giggled some more and gave his phone right over.  
The man unlocked it, guessing that the passcode was “1234.” He rolled his eyes, wondering how this git was even still alive in this world, and began searching for his address. He finally found it in a text to some guy named Ed Sheeran and plugged it into his GPS. Rhett wasn’t very familiar with Los Angeles. He only lived in LA to record albums, and then he always flew back home to North Carolina. He never really took the time to learn his way around the streets. He powered on his truck, and was immediately taken aback when Link dry-heaved. Rhett quickly turned down his music so he could hear Link.   
“God. Not that country shit. Please turn on real music.” Link groaned, rubbing his now upset stomach. Who would’ve known that country music could actually make someone dry heave?   
“Fuck off, man. I’m a country singer! Do you know how offensive that is to disrespect someone’s music like that?” He scolded, as if Link were his child- which he surprisingly had none yet. Though, he hoped to tie the knot soon with his girlfriend of ten years, Nicole.   
“Sorry, cowboy.” Link pouted and curled up in his seat.   
“It’s fine. You’re shitfaced anyways.” He mumbled to himself, keeping the music off. 

The drive to Link’s house a little ways away from Santa Monica was pretty peaceful. Link was fast asleep the whole time, since driving through Los Angeles took so damn long. The man kept looking over every now and again to study the sleeping man’s face. He looked so familiar, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. He knew he was from one of those Satan worshiping bands that preach about depression and suicide like it’s a religion, but he knew not of which band the man was from. 

After a good forty-five minute drive, the pickup truck pulled up to a fairly expensive-looking one story house. The exterior was lit up with multiple spot lights, revealing the tannish white siding, and the blue wooden door. There was a decent amount of foliage surrounding the house, which the man could only assume was kept up by a gardener. He gently nudged the sleeping man. “Hey. Is this your house?”   
Link groaned softly and looked up. He was a lot more sober now. Most of the hard alcohols he had drank was at the beginning of the night, leaving just a few beers to cloud his system. “Yeah, man. Uh… Thanks for bringing me home?” He rubbed his eyes and sat up straight. “Shit. My contacts are dry as fuck.” He grumbled, feeling the soreness of his eyes. “Thanks for driving me home.” He blinked a few times to get a clearer view of the strange man who drove him home. “Hey.” Link rose a brow when he realized that the face looked so familiar. “Do I know you?”  
“Well.” He smiled cockily. “I am a world famous country singer.”  
Link just gave him a blank stare. “And I’m a world famous lead singer of a band.”  
“Fine. I’m Rhett McLaughlin. You don’t really seem like the kind of guy to listen to my music, though.”  
Link’s heart stopped when he heard the name. “Rhett?”  
“McLaughlin. Yeah.” He shrugged. “Are you uh… a fan?”   
“Rhett. From Harnett Central High, Rhett? Like, only my best friend since first grade, Rhett?!” A sparkle began to shine in Link’s eyes, and a smile formed on his face.  
“Holy shit! That’s why you seem so familiar!” Rhett gasped, a smile forming on his face and his cheeks balling up. “Link! Holy shit!” The bearded man quickly pulled the smaller man into his arms. Link wasn’t slow to hug him back. “Eight years, Buddy Roll…” Link whispered. He was finding it hard to speak. His throat was tightening and his eyes were watering. “Fuck. It’s hard to make me cry but fuck, man!” Link chuckled as a few tears fell.   
“Don’t be a wuss, man!” Rhett joked, even though a few tears were prickling at his own eyes. 

After high school, they never meant to split up from each other. They never even meant to break their blood oath. But Rhett was a really awesome basketball player, and could go to college on a full ride basketball scholarship at Tennessee State University. They both knew the scholarship was way too good to turn down, so Rhett went. While down in Nashville, Tennessee, Rhett changed his major from Civil Engineering to Music Therapy. He began to study country music almost religiously. Rhett would write his own songs and perform them (and some covers) at a local cafe. It started just as open mic nights, but over time, the cafe began requesting him to perform on his free time. It went from a volunteer job to a paid job. By the time he graduated TSU, he was pretty famous around Nashville. He had a few record deals lined up, and a few months after being out of college, Rhett was signed by Capitol Nashville. A year later, he had a brand new album out that sold millions in a few short months. 

Link, on the other hand, had it a bit harder. He was signed up at North Carolina University, and had every intention to get his major in Industrial Engineering. But after their small band, Wax Paper Dogz, broke up he found himself longing to get back into the music industry. His mom was pretty upset when Link said he wasn’t going to go to college. She made the mistake of never going to college, and suffered years of random jobs here and there to make enough money to pay the bills. She was able to complete a year of schooling to get her associate’s degree, and became a lab tech. However, she still regretted never going to college. She didn’t want her son to make the same mistakes she did. Of course, Link kept turning her down and ended up moving out. He had five hundred dollars saved up from summer jobs, and used that to buy a plane ticket to Los Angeles. With $125 left and no where to go, he resorted to sleeping on the streets. It took two months of living on the streets for anything to happen, and once it did, everything fell into place. 

Link was walking down Hollywood Boulevard, singing to himself to keep his mind occupied. He didn’t notice anyone was following him until he stopped at a crosswalk. A very emo looking man, with eyeliner and messy hair, who happened to be Pete Wentz, stopped him. He gushed over how amazing Link’s voice was, and how high his vocal range could go. Pete took Link back to his house and got him cleaned up and rested. After that, he introduced Link to Fueled By Ramen, who quickly got him a band hooked up. It took another year to get things going, but once they did, Panic! At the Disco took the world by storm.  
\--------  
Link unbuckled and grabbed his phone from the seat. “Did you wanna go inside so we can catch up?” He grinned.  
“Yeah! I’d love to, Bo!” Rhett took his keys out of his truck and climbed out with Link. They went inside the younger man’s house and spent hours catching up. Link was completely sober by the time Rhett leaned in for the kiss. He was still sober when they ended up ripping each other’s clothes off right on the living room floor. Panting for breath between each heated make out session. Rhett’s erection pressed against Link’s ass. Rhett pulling Link’s head back by his hair, hissing dirty talk into his ear. Pulling out of Link right before climax and demanding him to move to his bed.

But most importantly: Link was still sober when Rhett wrapped his arms around Link’s small naked body, and whispered “I love you. I always have loved you,” into his ear. 

And when Link woke up with a hangover beyond belief, it really didn’t help his mood when he found the note next to his bed.

“Dear Link,  
It was really great to get to catch up with you after all these years. I’m really glad you’re doing what you’ve always wanted to do. However, what you and I did last night was beyond wrong, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself, and I can only hope that God will grant me his forgiveness. I don’t love you. I love my girlfriend. I think I’m going to propose to her. I love women. Not you, Link. I don’t know why I did what I did… And because of it, I really don’t think we should see each other again. At least not now. Not for a while. Look, I’m sorry. But I’m Christian. This isn’t me. That wasn’t me. I hope you have a good life. And maybe you should lay off of the alcohol. Maybe you should find God. Call me then.  
Sincerely,  
Bo.”

All Link could remember after that was the sobbing, the throwing up, and the amount of weed he smoked that night.


	2. The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty

“Wakey wakey, Linkie!”   
The brunet groaned at the sudden high voice in his ear.   
“Come on, baby! It’s concert day!”  
Link groaned again and began to sit up. “What are you doing here, babe?” He pulled his girlfriend into a hug, though still hanging off of his top bunk bed.  
“Well, you know me. Just wanted to come and see my boyfriend.” She smiled, though her words seemed kind of fake to Link.  
“Uh. Yeah.” Link pressed small kisses to her face. “I’d hope that you’d want to be with me.” He pouted cutely, nuzzling his face into her neck.  
“Of course. I flew out here from LA just to see you perform. That’s it. Nothing else would want to cause me to come and see you.” Behind the beautiful ginger girl, Pete mouthed “anniversary” to Link.  
“Shit.” The brunet frowned and climbed out of his bed. “I’m so sorry, Nicky. I completely forgot!” He wrapped her up in a tighter hug. “I’ll take you out to dinner after the show, alright?”  
Nicole sighed and kissed his chin. “Alright. I forgive you. You’ve been busy, anyways. It’s silly of me to think that you’d remember something as little as our five year anniversary.”  
Link felt his heart break a little. Five years already? Damn. “Well…” He quickly shook that thought out of his head. “Let’s get going. We gotta run the show, then I need to hit the gym.” He slid a pair of pink crocs on (provided by a fan who threw them at him while he was on stage- a pair of underwear in each croc) and led his girlfriend inside the venue. Still shirtless and in a pair of plaid pajama pants, Link, his band, and Fall Out Boy practiced the show.

Afterwards, Link hit the treadmill and lifted some weights. Staying in shape during tour was pretty essential, since he had to have enough energy and muscle to hardcore perform for two hours. 

After his workout session, he hit the shower, grabbed something to eat, then began getting ready for the show. He combed back his hair and settled on a gold shimmery suit to go out on stage in. He draped his arm around Nicole’s small shoulders, and headed down the hall to his meet and greet. Link was a sweet celebrity. One who actually appreciated his fans. So when his fans began crying when they got to meet him, Link would pull them close in his arms and hug them tightly. 

Once the thirty minutes of the meet and greet was over, Link headed to the stage, where he turned out a kickass show. When he got back to the dressing room, he ripped off his sweaty clothes and began goofing around with his band.   
“So how about we stay after the show to see what fuckwad stole our show.” Alex, his drummer, chuckled and tossed the ball that they’d been playing with back to Mike.   
“We could sabotage them somehow.” The bearded guitarist said, shrugging his shoulders and tossing the ball to Link.  
“We aren’t interfering with the concert. We aren’t those kind of people. Let’s just stay, see how good they are, then go to bed happy knowing how shitty country music is.” The band all grinned at Link’s response.  
“So what are we gonna do for the next two hours?” Ben, the bass guitarist, asked as he kicked the ball back over to the guys.  
“Well I’m gonna take a shower. Y’all can order us some dinner through Postmates.”  
The brunet left his band to go shower. By then, he had completely forgotten about his date with Nicole.  
He hummed a melody from Green Day, which he couldn’t necessarily put his finger on at the moment, and let the hot water roll off of his body. He couldn’t help but to feel sore after all of his shows. He enjoyed doing backflips off of podiums, and his piano, and the stage. He was also crazy and sporadic on the stage. It was just something that happened. Sure, he was naturally a “do before you think” kind of guy, but on stage it was even worse. One time, he dove into the crowd while singing Girls/Girls/Boys, without warning his security guards of his move. By the time he was back on stage, he had been groped in multiple places, and kissed by multiple people. There was even a woman who stuck her hand down Link’s pants. One can only assume as to why he never did it ever again.

Link closed his eyes and let out a long yawn. “Don’t wanna get out.” He mumbled to himself, and sunk down to the floor of the shower. The brunet curled up in the corner, letting the heat of the water lull him to sleep. He just needed to close his eyes for a minute… Or an hour…  
__________________

“Hey. You’ve reached Rhett. Leave a message.”  
“Rhett. Come on, man. You need to pick up. We have to talk about this!” Link was sobbing on the ground, an empty bottle of Jäger in his hand. He dialed the phone again and held it to his ear.  
“Rheeeeeett! What did I do wrong? You can’t just take what you said back! Come on, bo! We need to talk!” There was more sobbing as he hung up the phone. He tried calling yet again.  
“Fuck you! Fuck you, you God loving piece of fucking shit! I hope Jesus fucks your ass so hard, you cock sucking little bitch!” The brunet rubbed his throat, having hurt it even worse from the screaming. He broke down into messy loud sobs again. He bashed the empty bottle against the floor and picked up the largest and sharpest shard from the pile.   
“I could do it. I could end it now.” He hissed out, tears rolling from his bloodshot eyes, rolling down his boney cheeks, and down into his small lap. “Ah shit.” Link mumbled to himself. Every thought going through his brain was telling him to do it. He’d never be happy. What was even the point of staying alive? More sex with Nicole? Come on. Two years of her weird saggy vagina was two years too many. Sex with her wasn’t even pleasurable. She just laid there and moaned. Link was pretty sure that there was more than that to sex. Plus… Well… Link was a kinky boy. He would love to be handcuffed to the bed, or chained, or whipped, or spanked… Or to just be the submissive one. 

He quickly climbed to his feet, scoping out a pen and some paper. Link was suddenly emotionless as he sat at his glass dining table, scrawling words onto the paper.

“I’m sorry. I’m not perfect. I never was. Please forgive me. I can’t do this anymore. Please. I can’t do this anymore. I’m living a lie. Everything is a lie. I don’t want this. I want him. I want him back. I can’t be without him. Please. I fucked up so bad and I can’t live anymore. I’m sorry. I feel so sad. So incomplete. He was my other half. I feel so empty all the time, and I just can’t do this anymore.”  
Link held the note along with the shard in his hand. He walked down the hall to is bedroom and sat down at his desk. He read over the note, scoffed at how dumb it sounded, crumpled it up, and threw it under his bed. Suddenly overcome with the sense of exhaustion, he put his suicide attempt on hold, dropped the glass shard, and climbed into his bed.  
__________________

“Shit!” Chase exclaimed when he opened the door to find Link on the floor of the shower. He quickly ran over, turned off the water, and shook the man awake. “Link!”  
The brunet groaned and opened his eyes. “Hey Chase. Whatcha doin in here?” He began to climb to his feet.  
“We all got concerned, since you’ve been in the shower for an hour and a half!”   
“Shit… I only meant to close my eyes for a minute.” Link wiped his face off on a towel, then shook the excess water out of his hair. “What’s there to eat? I’m starved.”   
“Link. Look at me. Are you high?” Chase grabbed Link’s chin and moved his head down so he could look directly into his eyes. “You don’t seem too high…”  
“Cause I’m not, man!” Link pushed him away. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night, and the warm water was just really relaxing, okay?”  
Chase gave him a weak smile. “Alright. Ben got you some Thai food. Go eat, alright? You’re getting too skinny again.”  
Link nodded and slid on his black skinny jeans and a tight Twenty One Pilots shirt. He found his black hipster-ish glasses, propped them on his face, and headed back to their dressing room. 

“Hey man! Where the fuck were you?!” Ben yelled at him as soon as he walked in. Everyone was pretty worried about him. He was gone for over an hour, after all.   
“I fell asleep in the shower.” Link grabbed his tub of Thai teriyaki chicken, and sat on the table.   
“Oh God. Is it cocaine again?” Mike asked softly, pretty scared that their friend was back on the drug that almost ruined his life and his career.  
“No. No. No drugs. Just tired. I didn’t sleep well.” He stuffed some more Thai food into his mouth and chugged a Monster energy drink. “Hey. Ya hear that?”  
From the dressing room, there was a faint sound of a crowd screaming and a guitar playing.   
“It’s showtime.” Link grinned, and quickly set his food aside. He hopped to his feet, his band members following closely behind him.  
__

Rhett let out a deep gust of air. His fingertips were tingling, most likely from all the nervous energy running through his body.   
“Mic check! We need a mic check!” Rhett’s small and very nervous manager came running up behind him, her blonde hair swishing back and forth with her movement.  
“The sound system is so jacked from the last performance.” She huffed, leaning against Rhett’s body as she tried to catch her breath. “Still- trying- to fix- everything up.” She said, gasping for air between each word. She had been running everywhere throughout the theatre, fixing things here and there, and making sure that everything was good to go for Rhett.   
“Let me guess. Those little punks left a huge mess.” The bearded singer rolled his eyes.   
“Huge. Confetti- everywhere! Seats broken! Kids passed out drunk! There were multiple puddles of vomit outside. Used condoms littered everywhere! What kind of concert was this…?” Stevie scoffed, fixing the hat on her head. “But, it’s all clean now. Sound systems in check. Stage is set up. The only thing left from them is the curtain, so there won’t be any curtain calls tonight.”  
Rhett nodded and kicked a chord with his large brown leather cowboy boots. “How long till opening song?”   
“Forty-eight seconds.” She said after checking her phone. Good luck. Anna May is in the audience tonight!” She grinned. “You gonna pop the question tonight?”  
The blond man smiled, a bright gleam appearing in his eyes. “Yeah I am. ‘Ts why I’m so nervous right now.”  
Stevie grinned and pushed him a little. “You’re on.”  
The bearded man heard the small chime que that they used at every show. Since he played the guitar, it was usually only him out on stage at first. So other than the lights, there wasn’t much else to indicate to him that it was showtime.

Boots clunking against the stage with each step, spurs vibrating a metallic sound, and thousands of eyes on him: he made his way to his microphone.  
“One two three…” He tapped his foot to an invisible beat. He visualized his guitar in his head, before strumming a chord. He began to sing.  
“A quarter past dawn and I’m all gone… Stuck in the middle of my own barn…” The instruments of banjos and drums followed behind him. “Sunday mornin’s she wakes- arms wrapped around my waist. We walk on out, smiles on our faces as we make our way to our pickup truck. She turns the radio up loud singin, ‘Baby you can take me on a trip! Drivin’ all the way to our little dip! Church is at ten and we got all day- to make our way to our get away!’”

Link found his way backstage, avoiding the security guards and stage managers. “Do you hear this shit? It’s actual pain.” He chuckled and leaned against the wall to watch the show. From the high lighting and the angle that the singer was standing at, Link couldn’t quite make out his face or any of the words on the signs in the crowd. “Who is this guy? He sucks ass.” Link didn’t have to be quiet with his words, since he was easily drowned out by the music. 

After two more songs, Alex shook Link’s arm. “Come on, man. I can’t stand this guy any longer.”  
“Hang on. I wanna stay till I figure out who the fuck this guy is. He’s actual shit!”  
“Fine. Mike, Ben, and I are leaving. You stay.” Alex jokingly smacked his ass before taking off with the other guys. 

Link was honestly getting a kick out of this guy, and the fact that he somehow had fans. Yeah, his voice was actually pretty nice. But his lyrics and his choice of instrumental were honest-to-God awful.

Rhett finished up one of his songs titled, “Anna May, You Make My Day.” It was a song he had wrote a few days ago for this moment. The moment he was going to propose to his longtime girlfriend of ten years. Las Vegas was one of her favorite places to go. So he figured it would be the perfect time to tie-the-knot with her. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his pants, where he felt the bulge in his pocket from the ring box.   
“That song… Y’all, quiet down. That song was dedicated to my girlfriend, Anna May. And actually, baby, I wanna get you up on stage.”  
Anna May, a pretty petite brunette with straight brown hair and glowing blue eyes, smiled up at him with her big grin. She was sitting front and center with a few friends and family members. Rhett ran down the guarded stairs that lead from the stage to the audience, and lead Anna up on stage. Someone handed her a microphone and ran back off backstage. “Baby…” Rhett towered over her. “You’re the love of my life, you know that right?”   
Anna grinned and nodded her head. “Of course, Rhett. You tell me every day.” She giggled cutely. She was honestly a sweet girl. However, right when she said Rhett’s name. Link felt a dagger stab through his heart.  
“Rhett?...” Link gripped his chest, suddenly feeling faint and definitely on the verge of an anxiety attack. “That’s Rhett?!” Link balled his fists up in anger. “That. Is. Fucking. Rhett?!” He hissed to himself. His nails began digging into his skin.  
Rhett dropped onto one knee, causing the audience to audibly gasp. The brunet back stage instantly welled up with tears- while the brunette on the stage welled up with tears as well.   
“Anna May Howard. You’ve lit up my life for ten beautiful years. God brought us together, and now I want to fulfill his wishes. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. My heart has only beat for you. Besides my family, the only times I’ve ever spoken ‘I love you’, was to you. Because you have my heart eternally. Now I’d like- no love- to ask… Will you marry me?”  
The small woman nodded and held her hands over her face. “Yes! Yes! Of course I will!”   
Rhett grinned and slid the ring on her finger, then got up and pulled her into his arms. However, everyone’s eyes were no longer on the couple. They were staring at the lanky man dressed in all black who had just walked on stage. He grabbed the microphone off of the floor (Anna had dropped it) and brought it up to his lips. “Screw you, you fucking ass hole!”   
Rhett whipped around when he heard the voice over the speakers. He had thought that the noise was coming from anywhere on the stage. But he didn’t imagine that he’d whip around to see the voice over the speakers right in front of his face.  
“Um… Who are you? What are you doing on stage? Security.” Rhett said into the mic.  
“No. No need for security. I’m Link Neal from Panic! At the Disco. I have every right to be on this stage.”  
“Link?! Uh! … Why are you here…?” Rhett tried to keep his cool, since his fiance was right next to him on the stage.  
“Because you’re a real ass hole.” Link pushed past him to stand on the edge of the stage, in front of the crowd. “This man right here. He was my best friend since first grade. We fell apart after high school. We met about two to three years back at a party. He took me home cause I was wasted. However, by the time I sobered up, we were at my house. So I invited him in.”  
Rhett was now trying to take the microphone away from Link, but Link was smooth and quickly moved away from him. “He fucked me. We fucked so hard. So fucking hard.” He hissed his words into the microphone. He was bubbling with anger. “Oh yeah. Straight God-Loving McLaughlin had his boner shoved up my tight little ass! And ya know what he told me afterwards? Ya wanna know? Mind you, we were both sober! He told me he fucking loved me! This goddamn asshole…” Link’s voice suddenly softened as tears flooded down his cheeks. “Then-...” He choked a bit. “Then he left before I woke up. He left a note saying that he took it all back…”   
Though Rhett was feeling utterly mortified, ashamed, embarrassed, and pissed, the soft side of Rhett came out. His ex best friend was sobbing on stage, anyways. “Link…” He mumbled and went to wrap his arms around the small man. However, Link jerked away and felt his hand clench into a fist. He brought his arm back, and swung his fist into Rhett’s jaw. “That’s for being an asshole.” He hissed. “And this is for breaking my heart. Twice.” Link brought his knee up and collided it into Rhett’s crotch, causing the very tall man to fall to the ground. Security was on stage by then, and began to drag Link away.


	3. Crazy = Genius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is short. It's supposed to be.

Rhett fell to the ground, mouth bleeding and balls screaming in pain.   
“Oh my Goodness!” Anna cried and quickly got to the floor to nurse her fiance. She was trying not to let the fact that that homosexual on stage just tried to frame Rhett for having intercourse with another man.   
Despite the fact that they weren’t going to have any curtain calls, since the Panic! curtain was still up, the blood red curtain came cascading down in front of the crowd. “Um… Sorry, y’all,” Stevie’s voice began over the speakers, “but the rest of the show is gonna be cancelled. Refunds will be sent in the mail. Sorry for any inconvenience.” 

“What a fucking cow, that fucker was!” Stevie yelled at Rhett as she got closer. “Are you alright? The police are on their way to take Link away. And I think an ambulance was called for you.”  
“I don’t need no goddamn ambulance!” Rhett pushed his fiancee off of him and tried to get up. He didn’t really care how rude he was being. Link had just revealed his deepest secrets to his audience. He hauled himself to his feet and quickly walked off, despite the protests of Stevie and Anna behind him. He stomped away, closing himself off in his dressing room. He collapsed onto the dirty couch. It was visibly covered in dirt and makeup, and had much wear and tear on it, most likely from those crazy rock bands who don’t know what property destruction is. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number for his publicist.   
“Jenny Shives of Capitol Records Nashville. What can I do for you?”  
“Hey Jen. This is Rhett.” Rhett balanced the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, and began to pick at his fingers. “Uh so some shit went down, and I want to cancel the rest of the tour.”  
The line was silent for a moment. “The whole tour…?”  
“Yeah uh… I really need some time to think shit out, Jen. It’s an emergency right now. Unless you want me to have a Britney Spears moment. Then fine. I’ll continue.” Although Rhett was pretty serious, he heard the woman chuckle.   
“This will cost you and the company a good chunk of money to pay out all the refunds…”  
“And it’ll cost even more money when I’m in rehab for my Britney breakdown. Come on, Jenny. I’m dead serious. I need some time to get my head straight. I gotta talk to Anna about some shit too.”  
“Fine, Mr McLaughlin. I’ll cancel the tour. Please sort out your issues.”  
“Yes ma’am. See ya later.” He mumbled and hung up before she had a chance to say anything else. He left his phone on his shoulder as he spent his concentration on picking at the skin around his nails.   
A few minutes later went by, and four of Rhett’s fingers were then bleeding, by the time that Anna knocked lightly on the door and entered.   
“Hey, sweetie…” She gave a weak smile. “I brought you some ice for your… Uh…” Being the sweet little southern lady that she was, she didn’t want to say ‘testicles, balls, penis, or literally any indication of his private bits.’   
“Oh. Thanks.” The blond mumbled, still pouring his concentration into picking off the invisible hang nails.   
She sheepishly tried to hand it to him, but Rhett wouldn’t take it.   
“Just put it on. I don’t care.”  
Anna cringed slightly and set the bag between Rhett’s legs, balancing on the bulge that was always apparent in his jeans. He wasn’t horny- just gifted.  
“So uh… Ready to get back on the tour bus, sweetheart?” Her voice was as gentle as could be, as if too timid to wake the sleeping bear from hibernation.   
“Tour’s cancelled. I’m going home.”  
“Wh-what? The tour just started! Why are you cancelling it?” She tilted her head in confusion, standing closer to her fiance.   
“Because we have shit to talk about, May!” He growled and quickly sat up, hiding the grimace that threatened to overtake him from moving his injured male bits.   
“Talk about what? How crazy your ex best friend has become? It’s obvious. He’s just one of those dumb punk singers. I wouldn’t worry about it, babe.”  
A look of pure hate overtook Rhett’s face. “Call him crazy one more time.” Rhett was never a violent person. However, hearing her talk about Link like he was some psycho patient from the mental hospital was really getting to him.   
Anna backed up, hiding in the corner a bit. “What do you mean…?”  
“What do I mean?! What do I mother fucking mean?!” His eyes became crazy. “I did fuck Link! And I did fucking tell him I loved him! Because I’m a goddamn idiot!” Fingers still bleeding, he grabbed the vase of flowers that Anna had had brought to the room before the show, (though Rhett didn’t know she was actually there, just that she had Stevie bring them), and chucked it at the wall opposite of Anna. (Obviously he would never actually physically hurt anyone.) Anna screamed at his outburst, and cowered in the corner.   
“Just ask it, Anna! Ask me if I meant it!” His voice was just a low growl.  
“D-did you?” She whispered.  
“YES! Yes I fucking did! And I took it back because I’m an ass!” Rhett fell back onto the couch and buried his head into his hands. “Oh God. I screwed everything up. I left him for you...”  
Anna teared up as well, staring at him through the now wet eyes. “You know I can’t marry a faggot like you, right?”   
Rhett clenched his teeth at those words. “I can’t marry a hypocrite like you! I take back my proposal. Cause that’s who I am. I’m Mr Take Back.” He threw his hands up in exaggeration.   
“You can’t take it back. I already decided that I don’t want to marry a sinning fairy. You love a guy! You had premarital sex! You stuck your willy in another man!”  
“Oh my God, Anna! It’s a fucking penis! Get over your perfect innocent self and fucking say it!” Rhett jumped to his feet before storming out. He passed Stevie up, flipped her off, and began to call an Uber.


	4. New Perspective

“Get your hands off of me!” Link yelled and pulled his arms closer to himself. The two officers carrying him towards the police car just held onto him tighter.  
“Damn. Twigs can fight back.” The fairly obese officer chuckled to himself, though it soon came to a stop when he had to catch his breath.  
“Please stop breathing down my neck.” Link mumbled when he felt the heavy officer heaving hot breath onto his neck.  
“I’ll do what I want to do. Just cause you’re a celebrity don’t mean shit!”  
“Well… I could always talk crap about you to all of the paparazzi over there.” He shrugged, jutting his head in the direction of all of the people with cameras flashing away.   
“Are you threatening an officer?!” Before Link knew it, the two hundred and eighty pound man had tackled Link to the ground and laid across him. The other officer stood back laughing. “Wait till the paparazzi gets a lode of this! Ha!”  
The brunet gasped for air, but it was a lost cause. He was as skinny as a twig. And although he had muscle, he was still mainly bone and skin. Link felt two spots in his back crack like stepping on a stick, and let out a whine in sheer pain.  
“Be quiet you disrespectful swine!” The officer forced Link’s head into the concrete below him, scraping his cheek on the loose gravel, and cracking his glasses in half. The officer grabbed Link’s arm and pinned it way too high up on Link’s body. Not only did he feel his muscles tightening in pain and protest, but he could feel his bad shoulder giving out. Once the officer was able to pull his cuffs out of his belt, which had been sucked up between two large layers of fat, he began to get up, stepping onto Link’s small free arm, and putting all of his weight onto his small bones. Feeling another crack and an immense wave of pain, Link let out another loud whine and felt tears pouring down his face. The large officer finally got himself up and cuffed Link’s arms behind his back.   
“Come on.” His face was beat red from all this exercise. “Let’s get him to his cell for the night before we become rich with bail money.” He grabbed the middle of the handcuffs and pulled Link up by the chain. His broken glasses slipped right off and stayed on the asphalt as he was hauled away.  
The smaller officer smirked and let out a hearty laugh as he helped push Link into the car.  
The brunet curled up in the seat and cried silently to himself over the pain that was rushing through his body.  
“We got the crazy celebrity. Bringin him in.” The skinnier officer said over the radio. As they passed through the crowd of paparazzi, they waved and smiled like the heroes they knew they were, driving especially slow so the crowd could get a good photo of the civilian in the back.  
The drive to the police department wasn’t as eventful as the night had been. It had been pretty silent, other than occasional comments to each other in the front seat. Link watched as his tears mixed with the blood on his face and left a dark stain on the seat. The sting of the salty tears in his cut didn’t hurt nearly as much as his arm did. Eventually, the brunet let his heavy eyelids shut, leaving him to his thoughts and visions of Rhett. That damn blond was all he wanted in that moment. He just wanted to be held… Just like whenever Rhett noticed a new scar on the brunet’s arm. He never asked why, knowing that stirring up the memories would only make it worse. Instead, he’d pull Link into his arms. It was never anything romantic. Just a gesture of affection that he knew Link needed. Even if a new scar had appeared on Link’s arm by the next night, he could at least tell himself that he kept Link from cutting that night. Because Link was fast asleep in his arms. Not passed out on the bathroom floor from seeing his own blood.

That’s all Link wanted in that moment.  
____________________________________  
“Rise and shine!”  
Link cringed and quickly sat up when an officer repeatedly hit the top of the police car to wake Link up from his slumber.   
“Get your ass out of the car. I ain’t askin twice. I heard you’s trouble.”  
The brunet squirmed his way out of the car, only having his torso and legs to use.  
“There’s our trouble maker!” The officer was much older than the other two. He was balding with a thick white mustache. He wasn’t as fat as the other officer was, but he definitely had a beer belly. “Jesus Christ. What happened to your face, son?” The officer held Link’s chin up under the light so he could see his face better.   
“It was just a rock…” He said quietly, making sure to be respectful, since he learned his lesson from the other officers.  
“Whelp. Let’s get ya cleaned up and thrown into your cell for the night. I’m sure it won’t be long till your little buddies come to bail ya out.”  
The singer nodded and followed right behind the old officer. All he did was slap a bandaid on Link’s cheek, and sent him into the cell. He turned around letting the man uncuff him. “Lord. Your arm is purple!”  
“Uh yeah. The one officer was a little more forceful than necessary…”   
“You mean to tell me one of my men did this to you?”  
“Yes, sir…”  
The man let out a groan and let Link’s arms fall to his sides. “Shit. Not the celebrity.” He mumbled, locking the cell behind himself. “There ain’t much I can do. Accidents happen, and this ain’t mine to deal with. Not right now.”  
Link watched in awe as he just walked away. “But sir… My arm is broken!”  
“Ain’t my problem.” He muttered, pulling a Playboy magazine out of his desk. He unbuckled his belt and sat back. Link looked over and grimaced. Las Vegas was a weird ass place.   
Despite the pain still coursing through his body, Link laid down on the slab of concrete that was supposed to be his bed, and drifted off to sleep.

After what felt like two seconds of sleep, Link was woken to the sound of the cell being unlocked. “Rise and shine. You’re bailed out.”   
Not being able to see much due to the lack of his glasses, he squinted his eyes to see who was standing next to the officer. All he could make out was a tall figure. “Mike?” 

“What’s wrong with his arm and his cheek?” The tall figure asked in almost a whisper.  
“Oh. Ain’t nothin I know. Just get him and get outta here! I got shit to do!” The officer walked back over to his desk, taking out a bottle of lotion and a different Playboy.

“Come on, Linkster. Let’s get ya outta here.” The tall blond man walked forward gently seizing Link’s hand. The brunet squinted up at him, letting out a small gasp when he saw the beard and the greenish grey eyes. “Rhett… You-you bailed me out…?”  
The gentle giant smiled softly and nodded his head. “Yeah. I’ll explain later. Let’s get out of here.”  
He intertwined their fingers (he was holding Link’s better arm. It was pulled out of place, but at least it wasn’t broken…) and brought him towards the front door. Once they were out of the building, Link broke down into tears and messy sobs.  
“Oh no! Link! What’s wrong? What did I do?!” Rhett bent down a bit so he was eye level with Link.   
“N-n-no! Not y-you! Them!”  
“What about them, Linkster?” His voice was gentle, and he had one hand combing through Link’s soft dark brown locks.   
“They broke my arm- and- and I think my ribs!” He sobbed loudly, gathering attention from any passersby. “And my glasses!”   
Rhett felt anger instantly rush through his body. “I’m going back in.”  
“No! Just take me to a hospital! And then I wanna go home. Fuck my tour. I wanna go home…”   
Rhett gently pulled him into a hug, avoiding the broken arm, and barely putting pressure on him.   
“Alright. Alright. Come on.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Link’s head, not really giving a damn that he had just kicked Link in the balls an hour ago. “I called an Uber.”  
He guided Link towards a small grey car and helped him in. “We need the nearest hospital.” he told the driver as he got in.  
“Awwwwww shiiiit dude!” The driver looked at them. “This like one of them crime films? Shiiiiit that’s cool! I gotcha, my dudes! I- Got- You!” He nodded and turned back to the road. Rhett just shook his head, keeping his eyes on Link. The brunet had his head against the window, tears still streaming down his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Rhett… I’m so sorry…”  
The blond shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Link. I deserved it.”  
“No you didn’t. You’re happily engaged. You looked so damn happy and I had to go be the fuck up that I am and ruin it for you. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”  
“Please don’t be, Link. I never even should have took back that ‘I love you’, because I do love you.”  
“No you don’t.” Link was staring blankly out his window, tears still coming down.   
“Yes I do. I realized it the moment they dragged you off the stage. Right when Anna touched me, it felt wrong. I didn’t want her hands even near me. I wanted to run after you. I wanted to pull you into my arms and apologize. For everything. And I would right now if you weren’t broken…”  
Link turned his head so he could stare at Rhett. “You really mean it?”  
“I broke the engagement off. Doesn’t matter. She said she’d never love a fag like me.”  
A small smile took over Link’s face. “Aw. You joined the fag club. Finally!”   
Rhett chuckled softly and draped an arm around the smaller man. “I’m only a fag for you.”  
“Well that doesn’t make you a fag.” Link frowned and pressed a kiss to Rhett’s cheek. “Makes you more pansexual. Cause you’re attracted to me as me. Not my sexuality.”  
“Well damn. I’m in the pan club.”  
Link chuckled softly and rested his head on Rhett’s chest. “Idiot.”  
“We’re here, man!” The driver hollered back.   
Rhett quickly got out of the car and went to the other side to help Link out.  
“Thanks.” He told the driver, before quickly guiding Link to the entrance.  
It took two hours of waiting in the waiting room to actually be seen by the doctor. He took Link back, got him x-rays, and concluded that he would indeed need surgery on the arm. His ribs would be fine, and they were going to push his shoulder back into place during surgery- to save Link the pain of doing it in that moment.   
Rhett got out his phone, settling in the seat since he knew he’d be there for quite a few hours. As soon as Link was done with surgery, Rhett went to the back to sit with him.  
The doctor checked with Link one final time before agreeing that he was ready to go home. While waiting, Rhett had gotten ahold of Link’s manager, who he helped settle a statement to give to the press, and had a car ready at the hospital to take Link back home. Chase agreed that it would be best to postpone the tour. 

So, Rhett helped the very-out-of-it man to the limo out front. “You want me to come with you?” Rhett really didn’t have anywhere else to go. He was hoping Link would be fine with him staying in the guest room for a bit. He knew he wouldn’t be welcomed home. He was gay now- well to his fanbase and his family he would be.  
“Of course I want you to come with.” Link pouted and made a grabby hand gesture for Rhett. The blond grinned and slid into the car with the brunet. It was a quiet drive, since Link was passed out the whole time. By dawn, the two had arrived at their destination. Rhett carried Link to his bed and tucked him in. He pressed a soft kiss to Link’s forehead. He wrote ‘I love you’ on a piece of paper and left it on Link’s phone, which Pete had dropped off before they got home. He walked off to the guest bedroom and crawled into the bed. “I really do love him, God. And I hope you do understand. Amen.” He said his prayer in a whisper before hugging one of the pillows to his chest.


End file.
